The Memory Chaser
by Pirate-on-Fleet-Street
Summary: Elizabeth is destined to die over and over throughout eternity. Will has chased her down countless times to make her remember her forgotten past, but this time is different. Will he let her go or try harder than ever to win her back?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Nope, Elizabeth, Will and Jack are not mine but you probably already figured that out.**

**Summary: Over the course of eternity, Elizabeth will die over and over again, forgetting everything from her life before. Will once again must chase her down like he's done countless times before and make her remember her past to get her back. But this time things are different. It's harder to make her remember. Will he let her slip through his fingers or try harder than ever before to make her remember?**

**Prologue**

I had learned to live with it, the constant foreboding of what was destined to come, time and time again for an eternity of my torture. The feeling was always there, sometimes overwhelming the sense that I had won once again. Because no matter how many times I won, that day would always come when I would have to watch her go again, no choices to make and no way to prevent it. Her fate was to repeat, the outcome of certain actions inevitably playing in a loop.

She would die again, after some time. She always had to die. She couldn't stay; she never would be able too. I would chase after her, determined to find her, determined to convince her that I was once hers, in another life. Over and over I would have to see that harsh light of the absence of recognition in her eyes. I would have to look deep into those brown depths that never changed and know that she had no idea who I was. Over and over I had to find ways to make her remember, and I would have to watch her cry as it all came back to her. Then we would have those happy years before she would leave again and I would have to stitch up my heart and go searching for her.

Everything was a repeat. Sometimes though, it was easy and she would accept it right away and I would have Elizabeth back the way she was. Other times it took forever, especially when she didn't trust me. It was so hard those times, not only was I fighting for the chance to make her remember, but when I got it I was fighting to keep her beside me for enough time to actually make it set in.

I never considered giving up. After the first time, I knew she meant too much to me to let go and so I kept on. What made me realize it most were the times I watched her die.

The first time I had returned home after my long ten years away and there she was, waiting for me like she had promised. But something wasn't right. She looked so sick, so tired. Her skin was pale and her cheek bones prominent, her hair a mess around her face. Her eyes had a dull glow about them that set me on edge and I knew right then that things were about to change for the worst.

She had smiled at me weakly and I hadn't smiled back, worry was too heavy on my mind. I could tell by looking at her that this was the last time I would see her.

That evening, when I had opened the door of her big house, her pull on my heart made me turn back. I kept back the tears for her sake as I looked at her again.

"Goodbye Will," she said softly and her small words rang with finality. The agony at the certainty that I was never going to have anything to come back too was unrelenting as I opened the door at the pull of my ship, my duty, the one that I couldn't ignore.

I had seen Calypso, a year after her goodbye. It was then that I knew my wife was gone. She came to me in a dream, dark hair in the familiar dreadlocks, a feather stuck lazily in a bunch of it. Her eyes had been downcast, her expression sad.

"I already know," I had said. She nodded and stood there silently in my realm of sleep, a beach that stretched on indefinitely. She said nothing for a while, staring at the sand under her feet.

"You have a choice now William, to have her live forever or lie where she may, buried under these layers of the Earth where eventually she will be forgotten by everyone and even you will forget her face. Never knowing what could have been, never letting her go."

"There's no other way for it to be, it's done with."

"No, there is a choice."

"Then I want her to live."

"But William, once she is returned, she will have to walk this earth forever. She will never move on, she will never grow old. Do you want that for her? She will have to lose everyone she meets, watch them pass by. Do you want her to live like this?" She then looked at me and her eyes were fierce, calculating.

I must have been feeling selfish. I must have been feeling very selfish.

"Yes, yes I want her to live."

She did not smile, she did not look angry, that serious expression never left her face as she turned silently and walked away, hitching her skirts. I followed her, hope filling up my head with a foggy cloud.

"Then take the water. Take it from here, from the fountain."

"But she's already dead," I say and my hopes go spiralling off the edge of the cliff at her unreasonable solution and suggestion.

"It will have a different effect on her than a living soul. But if you want her to live again, bring this to her. They have not buried her yet. And once you have done that, leave. Return to your ship, your duty."

"Just like that?"

She paused a moment, eyes shifting out to the sea beside us.

"What is it?" I ask impatiently.

"Nothing, that's it," she says.

But I would realize it wasn't it. When I returned after another ten years she was not in her old home; she was not at the door waiting for me.

I went to the blacksmith's shop but she was not there either. Giving up on looking myself, I approached the door with peeling black paint of her once maid. She answered the door dressed white and brown, her hair up in a messy bun and streaked with gray lines.

"Could you tell me where to find Elizabeth?" I ask.

Her eyes go wide in surprise. Soon after her face falls. "Look dear, she's not quite the same."

"Where is she?"

"Mind you, she's very much the same but there is one thing the matter with her."

"What is it?"

"She won't remember you. She doesn't remember me. She doesn't remember at all. But that pirate who came about here looking for her, Captain Sparrow, she remembered him after a day. But he's very easy to remember, seeing how different he is. So maybe you do have a chance. She's down by the sand, in the small Woldrey's cottage. Don't frighten her now."

"Thank you," I say, though I can hardly feel thankful of much.

It took me a few days to make her remember me. I had told her things I knew about her, things about me. She had shaken her head for a long time, though she did seem to recognize me a bit. Then suddenly she snapped out of it and her eyes filled up. She cried for a good hour, shaking on my shoulder.

Once again I had to leave at sunset, this time on a happier note. The next time I returned, she had a boy cradled under one arm, a pirate's hat perched on his head as she held the door of the cottage open. The boy's eyes had gone very wide when he saw me and he pointed to me and whispered something to Elizabeth, who smiled down at him then looked back up at me. Her smile brightened and she practically glowed. The she answered her son's question.

"Yes, that's him."

Over the next few years, time changed. People started to forget the gods, saying that they had no claim on them, that this was our earth. I found less and less sailors and pirates floating through my waters and I knew that soon I would be done here.

It was nine years and not ten when Calypso returned in my dreams. "This is not my place it seems anymore, though one day it may be again. You are released; return home to your wife and son. And Will, remember no matter what fate is laid on you or her, she will never leave this earth completely until it disappears too."

And so she did not leave completely, but she did leave. Our son grew up and eventually we had to accept that he was going to pass us by. I held Elizabeth while she cried over it, comforting her, stroking her hair.

A year after he left to go to sea, she was struck by a bullet to the chest. I had been walking two steps behind her when the gunshot sounded. The man shooting had taken off and run in the other direction. I didn't recognize him and couldn't guess at his reasons. I rushed to her side in seconds, but her pulse was dead and her eyes were shut.

_No, this isn't right. What happened to forever? _I couldn't fight the panic that enveloped me.

Her eyes did not open. I didn't know what to do with myself and for years I took up many things, one of them being to teach swordsmanship. But this reminded me of when I had taught Elizabeth and I gave it up after a while. I went to England, but found nothing consoling there and after a year I came back to Port Royal. In England I had found Jack. He said he already knew about her. He had found the Fountain of Youth as well and I told him half-heartedly that it didn't work anyways. He had patted me on the back and said "Oh but it does mate, but it's different for those who have died."

One day I happened upon a market, crowded with people. On the edge I saw her, fiddling with a hat with pink ribbons around it, her hair braided neatly down her back. She was alive.

After that, my efforts had to increase to win her back and make her realize who I was. She was more stubborn against my attempts, denying things until I played the right note. After I had caught her up she always felt bad for forgetting. And with hopelessness I realized that this was my forever, and hers.

**Thank you to all of you who read this and all of those who leave comments or constructive criticism. **


	2. Ships Wave Goodbye

**The beginning of this is still about the past. Later on is the present story. Not to worry, you'll know the difference.**

**Thank you to my reviewers! Every word helps.**

It had been ten years since the last incident. Ten years she had stayed alive and healthy in my arms, ten years of bliss was what we got. But by that time, things had changed something great.

The golden age of the pirates had ended. Of course piracy did not stop completely, but we had both seen and lived it at its best. From time to time she would bring up Jack in conversation, wondering out loud what he was doing nowadays. Her strong belief in his ways told her that he would still be out there, drunk and clever as ever, sailing the seas of the Caribbean. I had to agree. We never saw him though and her thoughts were never confirmed nor proved wrong.

It made me sad to look at her and see how much she missed the sea, missed the freedom it had brought. I could see it in her eyes as she looked out of the beach cottage window to the water, a stare full of accepting what she could never take again, a look full of longing and loss.

I wouldn't let her go back to sea. I wouldn't take her out on the water to feel that cold wind again, to take hold of that lethal weapon even just to swing it around once or twice. I felt bad for it, controlling even. But I knew that if she did go, I could easily lose her there. I never really had to tell her this, she just knew. The closest she ever got was the sand that surrounded us and stretched on for what seemed like the longest road, never changing.

I would watch her stand there for hours daydreaming, brooding, watching the waves with the wind blowing her hair back as the tide lapped gently at her feet. I never disturbed her, though I wondered what she thought about. The past? What was to come? What she wished had happened all those years ago? Or there was the one thought I hoped did not cross her mind. If given the choice, I wondered if she would have even chosen life. Did she want this eternity to end? I wondered if she would have wanted to die along the world she knew.

We did have happy times though. She liked visiting her old maid's daughter, Isobel. She was now twenty years of age and lived with her husband, a farmer by the name of Charles. They lived on a wide acreage and Elizabeth liked going there to visit them and their daughter of five, Helen.

The young girl had blond locks of curly hair, like her mother's. She loved to skip around the goats and sing songs to them, or when she got bored she would throw rocks at them instead. She loved Elizabeth and whenever we visited, she ran up to the tiny white picket fence around the house and stood on her tip toes, waiting for her hug that always came.

Elizabeth laughed for most of the time whenever we went there, a truly happy look on her face as we all talked and Helen coloured me pretty pictures. She never drew pictures for Elizabeth, but instead sat on her lap while she did them for me. I don't know why she did it, but I didn't question it.

She drew me pictures of cats and sheep, of goats and barns. I always liked the scratchy lines. But one day when she was older and closer to seven she handed me a different sort of picture. I looked at the pirate ship drawn onto the parchment with dark lines outlining the waves of the sea with surprise. The ship was scribbled in to be black and on the Jolly Roger there was a white flower. The flower looked sort of like a lily.

One day, the family moved away when Helen was fourteen and she drew handed me one last picture before hauling her bags out to the cart.

In dark charcoal, she had drawn Elizabeth on the window seat of their house, knees drawn up and staring out at the farm. The picture was a perfect representation of her. The girl had become a true artist. It pained me to see my wife drawn so serenely, fearing what was to become of her once this wonderful family left.

Elizabeth didn't take it as hard as I had expected though. She moped for about a day, then accepted that it would be better that they left than stuck around to give us yet another funeral to bring flowers to.

Elizabeth found the picture of the ship one day on my desk and when I walked into our sitting room, I found her studying it.

"When did she make this?" she asks, tracing the lines with her fingers, not looking up when I come in.

"A long time ago," I answer softly as I hang my coat over the back of a chair, studying the deep emotions running across her face that are reflected in her eyes.

Then she smiled and set it back in my pile of Helen's drawings. I kept the one of Elizabeth in a drawer.

"She always fancied pirates," she laughs and I sigh in relief.

Sometimes when she was in a good mood, she would make me parade her around the market so she could look at the ribbons and pretty dresses. Her smile was what made me think that I had done something right in saving her.

She would fancy the drawings set out on tables and touch the dried paints on canvas. There was one time when she had stopped and stared at a painting for a few minutes, unmoving until I came to stand at her side. She then reached out and touched the paint with two fingers. The vivid image depicted a black ship on dark water, a Jolly Roger flying high and proud on her mast bearing a white flower crossed with a sword. It was so detailed that the dents in the ship were visible. Though it was not the Pearl, it looked close enough to send Elizabeth into a daydream for the rest of the afternoon. Helen had become quite talented. I figured she would be nineteen by now and finally becoming the artist she had always wanted to be. It looked like she had kept her head down on earth by only drawing pirate ships instead of joining one.

Time passes

**Now**

The tall green grass is slick with rain as Elizabeth walks ahead of me, lifting her skirts up to her knees. I follow closely behind, feeling the water soak into my boots. I can hear the sea far below the cliff, crashing angrily into its rocky and unyielding walls.

Finding a good spot, she sits down, ignoring the damp. The tall grass bends around her and gives her something to lean into. I sit too with a tired sigh and look up at the darkening sky. There will be rain later.

Elizabeth reaches out and plucks a white flower from the ground. She holds it to her face and inhales, a small smile on her lips.

"What is it?" I ask her, glancing at the petals of the tiny perfection.

"It's a lily, my favourite kind of flower."

"Why the lily?" I ask curiously. Even through all these years, I still have things to learn about her.

"Some say it represents good luck."

"Well then, it makes a perfect favourite." I smile happily and look back up at the sky.

"Others say it represents death," she states blatantly and twirls the stem around with her fingers before tossing it to the ground.

I look back down to see her staring at the discarded beauty, serenity carved into her features. She accepts death. I can't.

The clouds crackle with white light as the rain begins to gently fall onto our faces. She doesn't move.

"Let's go," I say quietly.

She looks up from the flower, dazed.

"Why?"

"The storm looks bad." She looks up into the light drizzle.

"Yes it does."

I stand up, wet from the grass, and hold out my hand to her. She takes it and I pull her up on her feet, her damp white dress sticking to her legs until she pulls it away. We make our way hurriedly back through the path of trampled grass, heads ducked and hands entwined against the quickening rain fall.

We have to walk down a set of stair-like rocks to get back; there is no other way to get down or up. I hold her hand for safety as she moves down them. The rocks are slippery and she looks very fragile to me. Slowly but surely, we make it halfway down. I let go of her hand to lower myself down a bigger drop, leaving her above so that I can help her down from the lower level.

When I turn back around and reach up to her, she's looking off to the side with wide eyes. I follow her gaze slowly, afraid to see what she sees.

Coming in to make port is a tall and sturdy light coloured ship. The decks are gray and clean; the sails are not even stained. She looks very new. The thing most surprising about her though is the Jolly Roger flying high and proud on the wind.

The captain must be very brave to sail a pirate ship into port so openly known as a pirate's vessel. Then again, the navy would be less prepared for it with the dwindling number of piratical adventures around here lately. Still.

My heartbeat, though far away from me and beneath layers of hard-packed earth, speeds up when I take in the whole scene. Then it must have stopped completely.

Despair washes over me. She had become a pirate after all. That girl who had left us at fourteen with all her wild dreams and talents had given in to the harsh life of the endangered breed of pirates. The skull grinned wickedly at the town, sitting atop a white lily and a sword. I'm stunned for several moments in my misery when another ship rounds the corner of a rocky outcropping.

This one is more than familiar. I regard the Pearl with hope and a countering sadness. Elizabeth has missed him, as have I from time to time. Maybe she needs to see another old friend who won't pass on, who she knows will not die of old age. If the fountain really had done what he said and actually worked.

But maybe another sordid story of an unhappy eternity is what we would get instead. Surely though if someone was content with a never ending life someone else would call desolate, it would be Jack Sparrow.

I turn my attention back to Elizabeth, whose face is lit up with excitement. She doesn't seem to mind that her dear Helen has become a pirate. Her happiness at Jack's return must have eclipsed it. Or maybe she's proud of Helen and happy that she gets to live a free life. I won't ever know.

She looks down at me and smiles a true smile that has been missing for years. I start to help her down from her rocky perch.

The rocks are wet. The rain drums down in a rising crescendo. I reach for her with open arms. Her foot slides over gray stone. The rocks are wet. She gasps when she realizes this. Her balance is lost. I stretch up to her, but I can't grab her. It has been twenty nine years since the last time. The average is twelve. The rocks are wet.

"No," I gasp, panic in my voice. With a lunge, I go for her hand. But she's too far away.

She screams as she falls over the edge, arms flailing in the air. In shock I rush to look over, anxiety taking hold of me. By the time I reach that edge, she's hit the rock below. Agony builds up in my chest and tears prick my eyes. I hate this.

Her white clad body lies at the bottom of the cliff face, hair strewn like a halo around her head. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Loss clouds my thoughts for too long as I listen to the rain falling, falling like her. The thunder rages and a finger of lightning shoots down from above to hit a tall tree by where my broken love lies. I open my eyes at the sound. The tree breaks with a deafening crack and falls to the side, crushing some smaller trees in its path. Once it hits the ground, there is only the sound of the rain. The thunder subsides, the ships are silent. The rain insists on staying with me, the one thing that has never changed in all this time.

For a while I can't move. I don't want to go down there; I don't want to see her broken again. But I don't want to leave her all alone. I wonder while I make my way down to her what this time will bring me. I wonder how much I will have to lose in order to gain. I wonder how much she will change. How much will she cry when she finds out? How long will it take me to reach that point? I wonder how much more miserable this will make our lives. I wonder how much she's going to break me. I wonder how much longer this will go on. But in the end I always have to accept that the answer is forever.

Broken rocks tumble down the drop as I kick by them, rushing to get down to my life, my love. The same questions repeat in my head over and over, an unbreakable and monotonous voice in my head.

The two ships weigh anchor and the crews throw mooring lines down to the docks. The rain persists, hammering the earth with its song.

Finally I feel dirt under my boots and turn quickly around to the side of the cliff, fear clinging to me. A cold feeling spreads up from my lungs to my throat. There is a huge jagged rock directly in front of me and I know that she's behind it. The fallen tree is blackened and smoking. I slowly walk around the rock.

And there she is, as beautiful as ever. She doesn't look too twisted, though I know that she's probably broken every bone in her body. A red trail from her torso to the edge of the flat rock and into the grass stands out against the white of her dress.

The rain makes it lose its trained course and it spreads out in a spider web-like fashion, her being the pray that gets caught in it. I kneel down at her head, in her blood, and brush the hair from her face. Her eyes are closed and her lashes are beaded with crystal water droplets.

I kiss her forehead, letting my tears spill onto her skin. Then I kiss her lips and wonder why I was so cruel as to force this all on her. If I was her, I would have chosen death. But it wasn't her making who had made the decision. I had done it for her.

I missed those times when I had to fight to keep her because of Jack. I missed those times when I had had to try so hard to put us out of those stages where we didn't talk. I missed those days when I had to fight to keep her from straying from my side. I missed those days when jealousy was what I fought against. Now, I felt like I was fighting a battle that would never be completely settled.

The two crews make final preparations before they leave the two grand vessels. They unload onto the dock.

But the ship I'm on won't let me off. I was once captain of the Flying Dutchman, never this ship. My ship sits at the docks relieved of her one duty, her masts covered in gray spots, her decks sagging and her masts weak. She's another dying piece of this world. Her sad sails blow neglected in the empty wind, like a wave of farewell. I don't have the heart to save her from the bottom of the sea calling to her. No, my heart is too ripped up to wave back at her.

My heart is hoping that forever will end.


	3. Accusations

**Thank you very much to my kind reviewers, it all helps! This chapter is shorter than the other two so far.**

The rain has slowed down enough that I don't really take notice when it leaves completely. The girl in my arms lies still, her pale skin shining with the water, her white dress stained dark with blood. The wisps of her golden hair blow gently in the wind.

This is wrong. She usually wakes up by now, she usually moves. I sit with her for endless hours that run together to become uncountable. She does not open those deep brown eyes. She does not move. Tears blind me. Why is she not back yet?

Laying her down gently on the rocks, I stand up slowly and back away from her to the large jagged rock. Resting my forehead against the cold stone, I breathe in. I can almost forget her presence behind me for several long moments, staring down at my feet. But then I notice the ground is red, the blood soaking into the wet earth, marking it.

The side of my fist hits the rock, clenched tight. Over and over again I pound the thing, cursing at it. My quiet words get louder and louder until I'm yelling at it, kicking it.

I'm interrupted by the sound of a gun being cocked. I turn to my wife. She's still lying there, motionless. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd pulled a gun on me upon waking up. But it isn't her, she's still asleep.

"Step away from the body, young man."

I spin around in confusion and stop when I see the guard. His gun is aimed at my chest, his hat pressed firmly on top of his head. The buttons on his red coat gleam in the faint light escaping through rain clouds.

I stare at him for several moments in despair, until he is joined by three more officers. They cover his flanks with their own guns raised, the long slender pieces of metal jabbing in my direction rudely.

"I said step away from the body." The first guard repeats, gesturing with his gun to the girl lying on the rocks.

I look back over my shoulder to look at her again. Her eyes flutter open, staring straight up at the dark clouds. She coughs, blood escaping from between her red lips. She rolls onto her side to let the blood drain from her lungs. Relief floods through me, allowing me to exhale deeply in a sigh.

The head guard signals, half-stunned, for his men to aid her. The three of them rush to her side and flounder over her, talking quiet and urgent words, fussing around, their hands everywhere. She whimpers quietly.

I turn and take a step in her direction. The first officer's gun pokes at my back warningly.

"Now young man, take a step away from the... girl," he stumbles, clearly about to say body again.

"You're the young man here. And you have no idea what this is about," I say as I turn back around to face him. His face turns red and he grinds his teeth together visibly in anger at my comments.

"Watch your tongue. I highly doubt you are older than I. Without further ado, you are hereby charged with an attempt at the murder of this young woman in a most violent way, and you will remain in custody until a hanging that is sure to come."

"I didn't try to kill her," I choke over the words, shuddering at the thought that they would believe I had done such a thing to her.

"Let's let the governor and commodore decide that. In the meantime, you're coming with me." He makes a move to shackle my wrists and in tired defeat, I let him clasp the cold irons on. Looking once more over my shoulder I see that she is lying back down on her back. Her eyes are closed, but I can see her breathing. The three officers carefully lift her off the ground. The two on the edges let go and let the middle one carry her as they turn and walk down the path that leads from the cliff to the town.

As the guard carrying her turns his back to me, all I can see are her legs draped over one of his arms and her hair cascading over the other. Her golden locks swing with the motion of the guard taking her away.

I watch with happiness that she's alive, but despair that once more she is pulled from my hands. The head guard pokes at me again.

"Move it."

Reluctantly I go, wondering what will happen when they try to hang me. I wonder if it will work. The hope that it _will_ flashes across my mind briefly and I shut it out, letting the sound of the wind blowing through the trees erase my thoughts completely as I'm pushed along by the guard and his gun.

**If you would be so kind as to tell me what you think of this, I'd very much appreciate the time you took to read and review.**


	4. The Calm

When the guard leads me down those creaking wooden steps to my prison, the smell of rotting straw and other undistinguishable things hits me. I grimace at the sight of the mound of yellow bedding. There is no one else in any of the cells. Of course, there are not enough pirates around for them to lock up now. The guard keeps a firm hand on my arm until we reach the cell closest to the stairs. He removes a set of silver keys from his coat and unlocks the door.

Without putting up any sort of fight, I walk into my new home, kicking up dust as I enter the cell. Apparently no one has changed the straw recently.

"Welcome home," the guard spits and turns his back on me once he's relocked the door, heading back up the stairs. The first thought that occurs to me is that I can easily escape this place. No half-barrelled hinges can hold me.

But I want to stay here, not sure what I will even do once I've escaped. I sit down on the cold stone bench against the wall and rest my head in my hands.

I have no idea where she is or where they've taken her, perhaps to see a doctor? It doesn't matter, I'll find her whether it takes a few days or a few years. She always turns up. But she's never been taken away before. It bothers me to know that they've put her somewhere, what if they figure she shouldn't have survived? Of course she shouldn't have. The fall was so long, so hard. But they didn't know what point she had fallen from. In fact, they couldn't even be sure if she had fallen. If they really believed I had murdered her, or tried to at least, then they might think I had done it some other way. Especially because she was still alive, meaning that her injuries should have mostly healed up.

I move on, thinking of what is to become of me. I really must get out of here. Otherwise, they will try and hang me. When it doesn't work, I don't want to imagine the outcome. They will think I'm the devil himself. Well, maybe I used to be. Maybe I still am. But they didn't need to know that.

All of these decades, we had been trying to keep a low profile. My unsuccessful hanging would be nothing of the sort. So with that resolution, I decide that I must leave. Standing up from the uncomfortable bench I examine my cell. My clothes are still wet from the rain and I shiver as the door at the top of the stairs opens to let in some cool air.

Hurriedly I sit back down on the bench, casually leaning over my knees as if I haven't moved from the beginning. Boots thud down the wooden steps and I look up in anticipation, wondering who it can be.

A familiar hat rests on a head of black hair, various trinkets and prizes braided into the thick dreadlocks. Jack's long coat brushes his legs as he walks right up to the cell door. He looks more sober than I've ever seen him, but he still has the half-drunken swagger so he can't be too dry.

"William," he states, touching his hat, adjusting it on his head.

"Why are you here?" I ask in a miserable tone.

He smirks unpleasantly. "Look mate, I've come to set you free. The guards up there are all busy elsewhere with something... and this is your chance."

"Where are they?"

"Dealing with _her_," he says darkly.

"Dealing?" I ask curiously.

"Yes, she's causing quite a bit of trouble. Now do you want out or not?" he asks, waving the keys he has clutched in one hand. They clang together quietly.

"Not really," I mumble, looking around the empty jail.

"Good," Jack says and proceeds to insert one of the keys into the lock, twisting it around until there is a satisfying click.

I sit there for a moment, watching him as he swings the door outward. I want to run up those stairs and find her. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her again, letting her know that everything's fine. I want to sit here and wilt away.

"Come now lad, let's go," Jack beckons with a ring bejewelled hand, "Before they finish and come back please."

Sighing in unwillingness, I stand up from my seat and walk towards the open door. Jack shuts it behind me and leads the way up the stairs, his boots scuffing up the damp wood. The wind from up above hits us as we exit the warm jail and I shudder.

"Why are you setting me free?" I ask in a tired voice as we hide behind a stack of crates while Jack checks for guards.

"Cause otherwise, you were going to hang. Wouldn't want to cause an uproar while I'm here. Once they suspect you're not... usual, what will that mean for the rest of us, eh? 'Sides, you once set me free, now I set you free," he explains and waves his hand for me to follow him around the crates. We walk calmly out from our hiding spot, trying not to draw suspicion and attention our way.

"Alright William, I must go back to my ship, duty calls. And you have your own duty. Go find her." He pats me on the back, a dark look on his face that I don't understand. He turns to the sea, where his ship is docked out of sight. Neither of us say goodbye, knowing that we'll all see each other again soon enough.

I look around at the open beach before me. Jack had said that the guards were all with her. This is not the place obviously. This place is deserted. I wonder just what sort of trouble she could be giving them.

Determined to find out, I follow one of the main roads to the center of town, hoping it's the right place to look. I don't care if I'm seen. Surely not everyone knows what I have supposedly done. And even if they do it doesn't really matter because these cobbled and cracked streets are empty, there is no one to spot me.

I'm almost there when I hear it. A loud scream cuts the eerie silence of the town, unmistakably hers. I shiver, trying to expel the chills running up and down my spine as I quicken my pace, running through the last few streets to where they're all gathered.

Staying tucked around a corner, I look into the open square between streets, stone buildings lining it. A mess of uniformed officials crowd around in a large circle. I look at the object of their attention, and find her there in her stained white dress, hair and eyes wild as the sea during a storm.

"What have you done to me?" she screams at them, tugging at the red mess of her dress.

"Calm down!" one of the men yells and tries to step towards her. She backs away, pulling at the fabric that sticks to her skin with moisture. The hem that reaches down to her knees tears under her nimble fingers. The guard reaches out to her. She screams again, a tear running down her face as the piece of the torn dress hangs down from the rest of it. I hold my breath as I watch the scene, wanting to run out of my hiding place and take her away. But I'm frightened of her and know she will only be frightened of me.

The guard stops his advance, his expression one of strict seriousness. "Miss, we're trying to help you."

"No! Get away from me! What have you done?" She wails and rips at more of her dress, tearing off the rest of the hem, shrieking when she twists around and sees that most of her back is stained. She sobs, grabbing at the bloody fabric in terror.

She closes her eyes and sinks to the ground, clutching at her hair. Two guards take this moment to rush up and her and take her arms. They pull her back up to her feet and turn her around to face one of the stone-walled structures.

She now has her back turned to me and I feel the urge to intervene. They lead her roughly to the strong front doors of the building, pulling at her arms. She laughs then, a cold laugh that makes the guards look at her in fear and surprise.

"Get her inside!" one of the others shouts.

She turns around and glares at him, her eyes blurry. Then she says in a very calm voice, "I don't belong here." She smiles then, a dark smile. The guard ignores her and the two holding her arms wrench her back around to face the right direction. She cries out and they tug her up the set of five stairs.

I read the wood sign beside the door, my heart plummeting down to the furthest depths.

_Mr. Fox's asylum, since 1675_

How was I ever going to get her out?


	5. Gestures

**Special thanks to Damsel-in-stress for all of your lovely reviews and thank you also to Nytd, Stutley Constable and Buffycorvin for yours.**

**Alright, so this chapter will have a few flash backs in it, they are in italic so you'll know. This is meant as a filler of sorts, but it's still part of the storyline. Enjoy! **

The guards depart in clusters, the head guard sending them back to their posts before running off along one of the streets connected to the square, the back of him fading quickly into the fog that came after the rain.

I look at the doors. Two heavy wooden barricades, scraped up and with many dents near the bottom. Someone must have put up a big fight at some point. The problem is that I have no idea what sort of asylum this is. Is it open to the public? Is it used to actually help the inmates? I don't know which would be better, or which one would be easier.

Deciding to figure this all out before I jump towards any set plan, I emerge from the shadows of the street I've been hiding on and cautiously approach the doors. Something screams at me that this place is not somewhere I want to be. But the tiny voice slipping underneath that loud one tells me that I need to go up those steps, I need to knock on that hideous door.

The sound of my knuckles on the rough surface makes me flinch and I realize that over the years, I've learned fear.

Silence sits with me, holding my hand as I wait. The right door is opened with one fast, jerky movement. It swings inwards and a tall, thin man steps forward, his black hair curly and his moustache giving him a very pompous air. He stares down at me with annoyed and piercing blue eyes, the left corner of his mouth turned down disapprovingly.

"Tuesdays, we are open Tuesdays. Come back then sir," he says haughtily, stepping back and beginning to close the door.

"Wait, I need to see one of the patients. She just came in. There's been a mistake."

The man looks down his nose at me, one level higher than I am, me being on the last step and he being on the main floor of the building.

"Tuesday!" he exclaims once more and slams the door shut in my face, dust falling off the walls beside it from the force.

Sighing in frustration, I turn away. With a quick once-over of the asylum, I know there is no back door. I will have to wait until Tuesday, or wait for a better opportunity to make an entrance. Accepting that I've done what I can for now, I turn my back on the stone building and continue on down the street to my left, planning on making my way home.

My step falters as I hear the beginning of shouts from behind, far off at the prison. Apparently, they have discovered my taking of leave. Let them fight about it; I have no patience for going back there. They won't be finding me.

The small cottage on the sand looks lonely in the heavy blanket of fog, a dark wood figure that can't say anything, yet she shouts out to me that she is sad and lonely. Empty.

Everything means something. When you've been around for as long as I have, loneliness becomes a part of every breath. In that loneliness you have time for observation, the understanding of things. Every piece of this world sends a message. Because when the people you trust yourself with become so few, you learn to read the rest. The things that don't speak out loud yet are sometimes the loudest of everything around are the things that don't fade. You get to know them.

Not wanting to bear the emptiness of her walls, I turn away from the old cottage. I will go see my ship. I don't think she will last much longer and I want to see her one last time before she goes. I want to remember how she was all that time ago, when she had a purpose.

I brush my feet along the surface of the sand as I approach from the beach, kicking it up into the heavy air. The hiss is comforting and familiar, but it's too quiet with only one pair of boots moving it.

There she is, tied at the end of the dock. The noise following me changes to a clunking underfoot. I'm almost there. I can smell the sea stronger, as I'm above it. I can smell wet wood. I can smell _her_. Finally, I reach the point of the dock where the ladder hangs down, the rope a greenish colour from the sea and weather.

Extending a hand, I grab it and test its strength. It will hold. Slowly, to make sure that the rope doesn't break, I climb my way up to her deck. When both feet are planted, I stop. Reaching out, I gently touch the railing next to me. It's covered in grime. Bits of dirt and fungus brush off onto the deck below.

I look to the mast. The planks of wood surrounding her shoot up in different odd angles, as the tall pole has sunk down over time, pushing its way through the deck, pushing the boards up and out of the way. But it isn't completely through yet. She's holding up as best as she can.

The stairs to the quarterdeck are intact from the obvious lack of use. Seeing those stairs, the ones my father and my crew used to walk up adds another touch of abandonment to this vessel. Her time has passed.

"_Free?" The crew echoed, their voices sounding strange, testing the word on their ruined lips. "But where do we go? What is there left?"_

_I don't have an answer. Twenty nine years is not what I expected. Though it is a long time, I was expecting an eternity. And now, I will go home. I will find my wife. I will see my son, now nineteen. I haven't seen him since he was nine. For the first time in a long time, I feel truly happy. I can almost feel the texture of her hair in my hand, her soft skin tinted from the sun..._

"_Son," my father's voice interrupts my reverie and I snap to, finding his face. The rest of them move away, discussing the future. Some are excited; the light shines in their eyes unmistakeably. Some are confused, not knowing where they will go, what they will do. "It's been long years sailing with ye. And now, I think this must be goodbye."_

_My happiness does not fade or leave, but it moves to the back of my mind for this moment._

"_I suppose it is," I pause, really looking at him. "What will you do?"_

"_I'm guessing not many of us have much time left. Maybe relatively young now, but only the captain is truly immortal, his heart locked away. I still have the rest of this short life. I'll stay at sea, find a ship, do some pirating."_

_I feel that happiness come forward again. He'll be fine. They'll all live their lives, however that may be. _

An empty deck of gray and green stretching pitifully before me, I see it again.

Shabby and broken, she is different. It's the same deck from those memories, but with a heavier sky above her and the truth of desertion already worked through her frame.

She's no longer a Flying anything. She's sinking. I thought names were one of the things that lived on. Does anything truly live on aside from me?

_I knock on the old Woldrey's cottage door, Elizabeth's door. The lush garden on either side of a pretty stone path up to the front door is a good sign to me. I can hear quick footsteps on the other side, the turning of a lock soon after. The door swings open and there she is, my perfection._

_Her feet are bare, her hair loose around her face as she looks up at me. Her pretty light pink dress flutters in the gentle breeze. Her eyes go wide, showing me those brown depths of warmth and surprise._

"_You're early," she smiles sweetly yet sadly, looking up to me as if she's expecting a denial._

"_I'm home forever," I whisper and reach for her, taking her in my arms. She's so warm, so familiar. She smells of that scent that's always been there, a sweet aroma that I've never put a name to._

_She pulls away to look into my eyes again, and she kisses me. Her hair flutters in the wind, a ribbon of beige satin tied in a bow, waving a welcome._

A tattered sail blows in the wind, reaching out to the sea to save her, not take her down. It's not the wind of my memories, this one is hollow and harsh, an unforgiving breath.

I step forward, away from the crumbling railing. The boards creak under my feet, but they don't give. Carefully, I walk to her stairs. This rail is much sturdier, but covered in black spots of rot. The quarterdeck lies before me.

The helm looks fine. A few broken spokes acquired over the years of use is nothing. I cover the last few strides to its shape and grab it in my hand, feeling those rough grains press into my palm in a way that once would have been comforting. Now I just feel like I'm trying to hold onto her, to the whole ship.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her, because I know that I can hold onto her as hard as I want, but I can't save her.

"_I'm sorry," the voice comes from behind me and I turn around, still holding her in my arms. "I didn't know you had guests. I'll just..." and the man turns to leave, back down the stone path towards the sandy beach._

"_William, come back."_

_The man turns his head and looks at me apologetically. "Wouldn't you rather see your visitor alone?"_

"_William?" I ask, stepping towards him and away from Elizabeth._

"_Father?" he asks, confused._

"_You look different," I say._

"_And you look... like you might have survived a hurricane," he says. Then he steps forward to get a better look at me and smiles, "But you're the same, from what I remember."_

A metal pulley clangs gently against the mast as a rope from the sail blows back and forth. There is nothing left for me to see here, nothing left to do.

Reluctantly, I release my hold on the helm and it rotates a tiny bit to the right, then back to its original place. I retrace my steps to the ladder, taking in every detail of this part of my life.

When I reach the gap in the railing, I lower myself expertly onto the rope rungs and look once more across the expanse of deck.

Goodbye, my love.

When I'm halfway up the dock, no noise could have drowned out the large cracking noise of splintering wood as the mast falls through to the hold and further. No amount of cannon fire could have masked the sound of the snapping lines, the creaking and groaning wood. And without looking, I know she's drowning in her sea.

Adieu, mon amour.

**If you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would love to know what you think. Thank you very much for reading!**


	6. Fools and Madness

**Thanks to Damsel-in-stress, my constant reviewer and to those others who have also reviewed, you guys are wonderful!**

Tuesday. What has Tuesday brought? The sun. When I open the front door of the cottage, the heat is the first thing I notice. Yesterday's cold weather has been replaced with light clouds and blue sky. Someone in this world must be happy then.

Struggling to remember the streets taken to get to the asylum, I shrug on a coat and head into the heat. The walk is rather long and boring, with nothing much to catch my interest or attention for more than a few seconds.

When I find the street that leads to the square, I recognize it immediately. Shadow falls onto its cobble stone from the shape of the buildings lining it and I find myself shivering even in the heat as I turn onto it.

The asylum looks slightly different in the sunlight, less gloomy. Even though I know what sort lies on the interior, the outside looks no more disturbing than any other house or shop, except when you read the sign that glints sharply in the sun, the words burning into the metal.

Once more I knock on the door, waiting more impatiently than the last time, having been waiting for this for the past few days. After being turned down once, I'm not sure I want to even go in.

Of course I do because she's in there. Which is the exact same reason I don't want to. Do I want to know what condition she's in? Of course I do. No, not really. Yes.

The door opens and the tall, pointy man steps forward again, his vest set so perfectly straight on his body that it reminds me of a corset, holding his perfect posture together along with his self importance.

"What do you want?" he demands.

"You said this is open Tuesdays."

He grimaces then moves aside, waving for me to come in. I brush past him into the lobby. It's a plain room, with a desk facing the door and what must be the one window in this hole. Another wooden door leads off to the left, and I know she's on the other side somewhere.

A gray haired man sits at the desk hunched over a paper, scrawling across it in a dutiful way, the nib of the feathered pen scratching the parchment in a familiar sound, the sound any pen makes. The way the feather touches his hand speaks of good use and training to fall the right way for the writer, grazing the skin of the hand perfectly.

The door closes heavily behind me and the dark haired man passes me to stand next to the other at the desk. I walk up to them both, unsure how you really go about this.

"I would like in," I say hesitantly, addressing the one writing. He doesn't look up when he answers.

"We're allowing no weaponry inside. Please remove any knives, swords, guns or others. Not a very lively bunch, the crowd today. It's too sunny to be indoors, but if you want to go in, I'm sure there is still some fun to be had."

The tall one walks to the door and opens it, just as I hear a loud laugh come from the other side. Curious, I go through the doorway. It opens onto a hall to my right, the floor made of cement or smooth stone. A few men stand about, looking into the cells lined up in one row along the wall, heavy bars separating them from their entertainment.

The laughing man is chorused by a few others at the same cell, a woman's high pitched laugh as she clings to her husband's arm. She looks sort of frightened of the person inside, but highly amused at the same time. I can't see what the person has done. I can't see them at all.

Afraid to find Elizabeth, I venture into the hall, once more hearing the door shut behind me. The first cell is empty and dust has gathered in the corners of the unused space. It looks so dejected, so uncared for. The second is also empty, a silent picture of no colour. I think there are ten in all. I find the first occupied cell. A man sits with his knees folded to his chest, singing quietly to himself in another language, his hair long and ragged, his clothes torn. When I stop and look at him, he turns his head, his eyes narrowing and his hands shaking. He jumps to his feet and runs at the bars, growling fiercely at me. Quickly turning away, I move to the next, wanting to find her soon and get out.

I pass the one the woman had been laughing at. A frail woman stares at them with a confused expression. Four more women cluster in the corner of the space, terrified of the viewers. They're thin frames quiver in fear and one of them whimpers. Disgust at all these poor souls makes me walk faster.

The next holds a sharp faced girl, her skin pale, and her hands gray. But she looks so young. Her companion sits on the bench that they have. Her face is calm, her eyes sad but her posture composed. She looks completely normal, even beautiful. She's probably someone who refused a hand in marriage, to the wrong man. Sympathy for the poor girl makes me pause for a moment, but not wanting to be like the others, I move on.

And finally, I find the right cell. Two men stand outside the bars, heads tilted to the side, looking in.

I look inside. She's sitting on her bench, calm like the other woman. Her hair still falls messily over her shoulders and her dress is still ripped and stained. She keeps her eyes on the floor, a blank look on her face, quiet and unreadable. What is she thinking about?

When she sees another body move into her line of sight, she looks up and her eyes find mine, the look changing.

She smiles. And I take a step back, afraid. This is not the smile I want, not the warmth I need. It's mocking, like I'm the one behind bars. The others snicker and move away to more entertaining subjects.

I say nothing, waiting for something, for that smile to disappear.

"The rocks are over there," she says, pointing to a spot behind me. I haven't had one thrown at me for a few hours now," she smirks, her eyes sparking in that mocking way, again.

"What have they done to you?" I ask, stepping forward to touch the cool bars. They're rusty and uncomfortable, but I don't remove my hand.

She laughs, her smile highly amused. "So you're one of _them_, one of the questioners. Why don't you go deal with your own life, fix something that's really broken. I'm not," her eyes are lit with defiance.

"I'm here to help you."

"Like the rest of those who run this place? I don't belong here."

"Elizabeth..."

She narrows her eyes. "This morning, no one knew my name. I didn't know my name. But I told them, I told them and now they tell you, as if you can use it for something. As if you have the right to say my name. _My _name," she spits.

"I'm going to get you out of here," I say, moving closer so I'm leaning into the bars.

"That's likely. Why don't you join me instead? Although, your face is to pretty to be behind bars," she smiles and stands up, taking a small step forward.

_Her_ face is too pretty to be behind bars and I've seen it in that situation once before. But she doesn't see the connection and she doesn't know my face. Looking out at me from a cell rings no bell with her.

"I promise you, I will get you out of here."

She takes a few more steps forward so that she's inches away from me. Then she reaches through the bars with one hand and touches my cheek, that smile never leaving her face.

"And then what? Once I'm out of these bars, what are we going to do?" she's very close, her heat touching my skin. Her face is close to my own, her breath warm on my lips.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Then where are you taking me? What could possibly have merited such great kindness?" she says, her breath whispering over my lips. It's uncomfortable. If she doesn't know me, why is she so close to me? "Selfishness instead, perhaps?"

"I love you," I say. Oh great, now I've done it.

She laughs. "You do have a very nice face." She leans even closer, her lips brushing mine. I pull away, taking a step back. Her hand drops from my cheek, her arms hanging out of the bars. She reaches out and with one graceful but harsh hand she grabs the lapel of my coat and drags me back to her, a playful smile one those lips.

Her breath against mine makes my thoughts trip over one another. I've missed her so long. I think I see it, why Jack couldn't resist. Shaking that discomforting thought from my mind, I place a hand over hers, prying her fingers loose. She backs off slowly, still smiling teasingly.

"Oh, now you're no fun," she pouts.

"Do you remember anything?" I try again, shaking off her lingering touch from my mind. Even though it bothers me, I'll leave it for now. She smirks at my dodge.

_There she is, her hair curled to perfection, her hat perched richly on her golden head. Her soft dress blows in the sweet wind and the flowers at the stand far away touch the air with their exotic flavours. The pink ribbon she toys with sails in the wind, until she catches it with a white-gloved hand._

_I watch her admire it, running the fabric through her fingers. She takes her glove off to feel the texture, a small smile on her lips._

_Unable to stay away any longer, I sidle up next to her. "It's a fine colour. I'll buy it for you."_

_She looks at me, startled, a warm smile on her lips. "Do I know you? You look familiar."_

"_Yes, we've met before." We've met a very long time before. I love you, I love you, I love you. And you loved me, you did. And you will again. And after we met, I thought about you all the time. "Would you mind joining me for a walk?"_

"_I don't see why not," she says and we walk through the market, her carrying her newly purchased ribbon. It dances with her steps, fluttering against her skirts._

"_My name is Will," I say, watching her face for the reaction, if there would be one._

"_Will... I think I do know you. What is your last name?"_

"_Turner."_

_She stops and drags me to a halt. I turn back to face her. "Will Turner. I think... there's something..." she shakes her head, trying to come up with the memories. She stops, her breath catching. When her eyes meet mine again, they're confused. "You're _him. _Mine? I've been... how... why?"_

_I catch her chin with my hand, stopping her words from coming._

"_It's alright. It will all come back soon. Everything will be cleared up I promise you."_

_The next thing I know, she's in my embrace, burying her face in my chest. I clutch her to me possessively, in relief. Because once more she is mine and I am hers. _

_And she begins to sob, slowly at first when the first memories hit her, then more violent. The market around us disappears as I hold this girl, this fragile creature to me, trying to comfort her by saying nothing, let her revisit her past, letting her find me in her mind. I let her find the sea. I let her find Jack, _The Pearl_ and _The Dutchman_. I don't say a word as she remembers. And when she pulls back and looks up at me, she wipes away a few tears and kisses me, gentle soft and sweet. _

"No, there is nothing worth remembering I think. After waking up covered in blood, knowing it's my own but finding no wounds, do you think I want to know? Have you ever felt that way, where you wake up and wonder how you got there? What's putting you through this?"

"Every day," I answer bitterly.

She smirks again. "I don't know what happened. But I remember one thing."

"What?"

"Something a lover once said to me."

"What did he say?" I ask eagerly.

"What makes you think it's a he?" she snaps. Then she shakes her head, continuing. "_He _said, 'No cause is lost if there is but one fool left to fight for it.'" She shakes her head slowly, mockingly again. "Mean anything to you?"

I just stare at her. Of course it means something to me. A line I had said referring to saving my father, now it holds a different significance. I just don't know if I'm too big a fool for it to do much or hold true.

"No, didn't think so. That's the one thing I get to know, apart from my name and a few other things jostled about. But that's the only thing I can ever remember someone saying to me, and it means nothing, nothing at all to me."

She's right. Of all the things, why would she remember _that_? It could have been 'I love you'. It could have been 'Will you marry me?' But those words that she so carelessly repeated still hold value to me. She remembers something at least. My words repeated is like a life line thrown out there. But it could have been something more... loving, more significant to _her_. But it isn't.

"What else? What other things do you remember?"

"My age, but that small unimportant number feels wrong. But that's how many years I count, how many I know I am for sure. And yet, it's wrong. The number is right but the counting is wrong," she says, scrunching up her brow, a look of utter confusion.

"I'm going to get you out of here, and then I am going to help you learn more. I'm going to help you remember."

"I said I don't _want_ to remember," she hisses, her glare piercing my eyes. Her sudden anger makes me catch my breath. "You're all mad, every one of you on the other side of this cage. You're the ones who need to be locked up. You've made these bars, you've tied these bonds. But you're all crazy because you can't see that what you've made is meant for you. And if there ever was a day where you were in the right place, in here, the fools we are would laugh at you. We would laugh because you're all so blind you locked the doors on your selves. And you're so stupid that you would laugh with us, because you couldn't understand that we were laughing at you. I'm laughing now, because that day won't come. Because it's those that are the completely sane who are completely mad. And one day, you'll know it. You'll know I'm right."

"I'm not like them," I answer carefully, afraid of the wild look in her eyes.

She turns her back on me and walks to the bench, staring at the gray wall.

"I'm not like the people in this place either. They throw me in the same pile as these people; I throw you in with the others. Fair enough, don't you think?" she turns back to me.

"I know you don't belong here." She grimaces and steps forward, coming back to me.

"Tell that to them. At least then you can be my cell mate and we can continue this fascinating discussion for as long as we want. I think I'd rather enjoy your company." She's once again a step away. She cracks a smile, her eyes shining. And I wonder, just briefly, just in a flash, if this is her place. For the shortest moment, I wonder if she's here under good judgment. I wonder if she's truly mad.

"Then why don't you come with me?" I ask, hoping she'll cave.

She takes the final step to the bars and I let her put a hand on my chest. She looks up at me with dark eyes.

"You're very persistent aren't you?" she whispers.

"Please let me get you out."

"I still don't see why. If you want me so bad, here I am," she breathes against my neck, her lips brushing the skin there. She pulls me close by my jacket and locks her lips onto mine, hard and teasing at the same time. Her hand touches my bare chest, sliding across my scarred skin

"Don't," I say firmly and draw away, once again pushing her away from me.

"I'll go with you," she says suddenly, her expression of great amusement.

"What?" I ask, surprised and not sure where she changed her mind. "Why?"

"Because you're different. And I think I might actually like you."

"Do you always kiss people you may _not_ like?"

"Not that I _know_ of. I needed to see if you _were _just another tormenter come for a bit of fun. Then again, you did decline the offer of throwing stones at me. If you can get me out, I'll go. But then I want you to leave me alone. Let me deal with my own life. I can handle it. You'd best get going; it gets rather busy around this time. All the no goods start showing their faces and it gets a bit loud and chaotic. No one around here has a life, a few people in a pen is entertaining enough. And you, Mr..."

"Turner."

She eyes me funny. "And you Mr. Turner, I assume I will be seeing you soon enough." She smirks and retreats to her bench. When she notices I haven't moved she glares at me. "Just remember, you're all mad." She waves. I reluctantly turn away, knowing that there is nothing more to be said. The others have left, and no new visitors have arrived yet. This is a good time to leave.

"You're all mad." She says as I take a few slow steps down the hall. "All mad!" she calls after me. I speed my pace a bit, wanting to escape this hell. "You're all bloody mad!" she yells louder. As I walk past the other cells, the prisoners come to the bars, watching as I go by. The man who had jumped at me before growls at me and hits his bars angrily. "Bloody mad!" she screeches and I want to cover my ears. I reach for the door latch and jerk it down, swinging the door towards me. "YOU'RE MAD!" she shrieks and her voice echoes around the hall, chasing me. Her sobs and screams follow me until I slam the door behind me. Ignoring the looks from the two men in the lobby, I cross the threshold of the heavy front doors and leave them behind me as I run through the streets, back home, back to my safety.

Her shrieks ring in my ears, in my head, and I know they will follow me for a while to come.

**Here are just some neat things I learned through a bit of research for anyone interested:**

**Asylums were often run open to the public. The viewers came to entertain themselves by watching the insane patients, throwing sticks and rocks at them. They would laugh at the vulgar or sexually natured things the patients would do, provoking them and teasing them. These types of asylums were not meant for curing the patients, but for entertaining others. Then there are the closed hospitals/asylums which dealt more with curing, but there was still some public amusement in the affairs. Sometimes a patient could be sold and it was quite common for their hair to be sold for wigs by paying customers.**

**The patient did not have to truly be insane or crazy. If a husband disliked his wife and did not want to completely disgrace himself by keeping her company, he could give her to an asylum. Her family would say that she died to anyone that asked, saving the family name. Children were also admitted to these places. Most asylums ran in the late seventeen hundreds and early eighteen hundreds. Most of the patients died in the asylums from disease.**

**It's actually a very interesting thing to research. Madness in the eighteen and seventeen hundreds was very different from now, as you can see. I discovered some very fascinating things in my search.**

Thank you to all of my readers, and my greatly appreciated reviewers. Please review and let me know your thoughts on any of this.


	7. Anatomy of a Waterfall

**I apologize for my lack of updates. I have been working diligently on another story of mine and I'm sorry for the wait. **

**Thank you to Damsel-in-stress for being my constant reviewer all the way up to this chapter.**

**Thank you also to ammNIwriter, my recently acquired beta :)**

**Perhaps a recap? In the last chapter, Will visited Elizabeth in the asylum and they talked about why she was in there. When he was leaving she proved herself mad.**

_"You are the husband?" the woman's thick voice quivers as she raises a hand to my own and touches my cold fingers with her gloved ones. Her gray hair is tied in a tight bun and her mourning hat shadows her face as she dips her head in acknowledgement._

_"Yes," I answer, my voice confirming how lost I am. I can't find myself here. In this mass of black clothing, I cannot find reasoning. In this swarm of crows I cannot look to the future. I do not know where to tread; what ground is solid and what ground is masked air, waiting for me to fall through it._

_The fountain did not work. She had lied to me. She had taken more from me than I ever would have lost without her help. Like an infection; the feeling of despair spreads through my body, coursing through my blood, weighing me down to the heat of the earth beneath my feet._

_One day it should pull me beneath the dirt surface and suffocate me. I fear that day will come too soon and I will have no chance to find myself again. I fear it will come much too late, when I cannot bear the truth that I will surely find. My wife, my love...is gone?_

I sit, at the small desk under the window facing out to the unkempt rose garden, watching the sun sink into the water beyond. I watch the great fire with a quiet calm; facing the injustice of it all. She once waited for me to come by _that_ sunset. She once watched it the way I watch it now.

But she knew what she was waiting for. I can only look to the horizon and see another day ending, another night coming. I do not know what I should wait for. So I will _not_ wait.

I rise stiffly from the chair and grab my coat off the rack beside the door. I shove the fistful of money deep into my pockets and open the door to the moon shining down on the walkway.

The moon brings me hope, a glowing beacon of light. I cannot even look at the sun for it burns my eyes.

_"I knew he would have to leave," Elizabeth whispers into my shoulder as I hug her to me tightly, rocking her with the swaying time of the waves hitting the shore._

_"He may return," I say, whilst watching the ship disappearing further and further into the distance._

_She shakes her head. "No, I feel it. He will not. He will never come home again."_

_And I feel it too._

_Her son has gone._

_"Why does it work the way it does? I watch him sail away, the way I watched you sail away from me all those years ago. I wish one day to be the one sailing away. I want to run like he is."_

_"He isn't running, he's moving forward," I whisper to her._

_Forward is sometimes a place you must find before you can go onwards._

_Her head is resting comfortably on my chest, her soft hair fanned over the pillows beneath our heads._

_"How long do you think...?" I ask, trying to get through the words I need to say; unable to put them to my lips._

_"The doctor says half a year at best."_

_"Months," I echo, stroking her hair back from her face._

_"I wish I could come with you," she murmurs, her breath a whisper across my skin._

_"As do I."_

_"I miss the sea so. The doctor wouldn't let me go out."_

_"You should listen to him."_

_"I do. Oh how I miss it though! I should find it so demeaning to die so withdrawn from life. I do not want to die on a death bed; I want to die while I'm still alive, when I can feel things."_

_"If there was a way, you know I would fix things."_

_"No. There is nothing that needs to be fixed. I just wish that you could be there."_

_"I will be."_

_"I don't have another ten years to wait for you."_

_"I'll come," I promise her._

_"I know."_

If I could not fight death away with sword and dodgy footwork, then I would have to face it and admit defeat. I would have to accept it. There is no way around the end of the world, only waterfall after waterfall spiralling into the void that is oblivion. You cannot get back up a waterfall. There is no turning back.

The water in a fountain goes back up. As soon as it reaches the top, it is shot back down. It is life after life after countless deaths. How could I have not known?

I should have let the waterfall come. I should have steered the ship straight over the edge, let it run its course.

That way, there would have been no coming back up.

**Thank you for reading, please leave a review!**


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